


Cheating Death

by kronette



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: F/M, M/M, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 20:58:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in (one of the) alternate endings to "Only The Good..." Rimmer is left alone on a disintegrating Red Dwarf and takes refuge in the mirror universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheating Death

Rimmer didn't slow down as he twisted and turned down the corridors, having to detour around too many that were aflame. The ship was disintegrating around him and he had little time to get back to the mirror. If he could make it to the other dimension, then he had a chance. If not – death would surely be calling on him again, and he doubted that he'd be able to get in a second kick to its happy sacks.

His eyes were stinging from the thick smoke and heat. More than one burning piece of the ship had fallen on him, singeing his hair and clothes. He would not – could not – slow down. Gasping for air that was no longer breathable, he dropped to his knees in the hope of catching his breath. He was so close. He crawled as fast as he could, barely able to keep his hands on the heated metal of the deck plating. The knees of his trousers burned away and the stench of searing flesh mingled with the smell of smoke.

He crawled into the room on his elbows and saw the mirror wavering – no time now. He pulled himself up and through the mirror, collapsing on the other side. The impact left him in more pain than before, as he saw smoke wafting from his tattered uniform. His lungs and throat burned when he tried to call for help. He was too weak to stand; too weak to crawl. His breath rattled in his chest and he feared he would die from smoke inhalation.

As his eyes closed, he thought he heard footsteps, though it might have been his imagination. He'd already thought he'd seen Lister bending over him, calling his name, but he knew that was impossible. Lister, Kochanski, Kryten and Cat had escaped off of the disintegrating _Red Dwarf_ in one of the ships, leaving him to die.

A coughing fit startled him awake. It was dry and painful and had him curling in on himself, unable to draw a breath.

"Captain! Captain, try to relax," said a soothing voice and touch to his back. "Put this on," the voice instructed and he grasped at the mask placed over his mouth and nose, feeling sweet oxygen being pushed into his lungs. The irritation in his lungs abated and he relaxed for the first time in what felt like days. When he no longer felt the tickle of a cough, he removed the mask and looked at his savior. An officer from A Shift, Betty Carmichael, stood at his bedside, taking his pulse. She was wearing a white nurse's uniform and the universal red cross of medical training on her name badge. Right, mirror universe. No one was in their proper roles here, least of all him.

"Nurse," he croaked out, wincing in pain.

"Shh, don't try to talk yet. You've experienced serious smoke damage to your lungs and throat." She eyed him speculatively. "Not to mention second degree burns to your hands, arms and knees. It looks like you crawled through a fire."

He struggled not to laugh, but a wheezed exhale escaped anyway. He couldn't explain that he wasn't this ship's Rimmer, not if he intended to stay on as Captain. And it wasn't as though he had any choice. By now, his _Red Dwarf_ had surely been destroyed by the virus, so he was stuck in this universe. Not wanting to repeat his stint in The Tank, he opted for a rasped breath and a wave at his throat with his bandaged hands, indicating that he couldn't talk just yet. If it worked for Hollister, it should work for him.

Thankfully, Carmichael only fixed him with a wary look before leaving him alone with instructions to rest and not talk. He would do both, happily.

When he awoke next, he could tell it was ship's night. The lights were turned down in the medi bay and the bustle of the day was absent. The oxygen mask was over his mouth and nose again, and never had anything tasted as sweet as fresh air. It cleared his head and allowed him to think.

He needed to come up with a plausible story as to why he was injured. He'd been sick in bed when he'd arrived in this universe – even his first officer, Lister, had questioned him being up and about. But if he was in the medi bay now, where was the actual Captain Rimmer? And how could he fake a fire and a reason for him collapsed in the middle of the corridor?

His thoughts raced. If he could get back to the captain's quarters, he could short-circuit something in there to cause a fire. He'd say he'd been caught in the blast. His throat had been too raw to make a call to medi bay, so he'd started to crawl there instead.

All very well and good, as long as the other Rimmer didn't show up and ruin everything. How the smeg could he find him on a ship six miles long? "Holly?" he called out quietly. The familiar head appeared on the wall monitor.

"Yes, Captain?" he answered crisply.

Relieved this Holly seemed to have all his marbles, he cleared his throat. "I'm going to ask you a strange question, and I order you to answer it without commenting on it. All right?"

Holly pursed his lips. "Very well."

Rimmer took a deep breath. "Run a scan of the ship and locate Arnold Rimmer." He watched Holly struggle and knew it was killing him not to ask him why, but an order was an order.

"Scanning," he finally stated, though his expression remained confused. "One result reported: Arnold Rimmer is in the medi bay."

What the smeg? It was his turn to struggle not to say anything, as he wanted to shout his relief. "Thank you, Holly," he managed to say without grinning too much. "That will be all."

With a frown, Holly disappeared and Rimmer fist-pumped the air a few times. "Yeessss," he hissed, now confident that he was the one, the only one, in charge of _Red Dwarf_. Her captain. Now to fix his quarters to make it look burned in a fire. He slipped out of the medi bay and down one corridor, discovered it was the wrong way and turned round. He finally located his quarters and scanned the room for something that could short-circuit.

Locating a coffee maker, electric shaver, clock and radio, he plugged them all in to one outlet. He found a rubber mat to stand on, but gave up putting thick rubber gloves on over his bandages. He settled for wrapping them around a thin metal strip he'd ripped from the floor. Standing as far back as he could, he pushed the metal into the socket and jumped as it sparked and caught fire. He watched it lick up the wall and spread across the floor before activating the extinguisher toward the flames. They spluttered out, leaving a soggy, blackened mess. He replaced the metal strip, threw the gloves under his sink and tossed the rubber mat back into the shower. Satisfied, he crept back to the medi bay and slipped back into bed, falling into a deep slumber immediately.

=-=-=

He had to relearn so many things. The whole smegging ship was a mirror of the one he was used to – port was starboard and up was down. He kept making wrong turns and slamming face-first into walls where corridors should be. Reading backwards was a tedious chore until he'd figured out to use mirrors and reflections. Writing with his left hand, however, nearly undid him. He managed his signature and that was about all he could write. Even saluting was opposite, but he had the Double Rimmer to fall back on - he was at least used to saluting with his left hand.

Harder than relearning the ship's layout, was relearning the crew. The lowest technician was just below him in rank, quite literally. Lister as his first officer was bad enough, but half of Zed shift technicians were now officers. Kill Crazy was a doctor, Petersen a navigation officer, Chen a comm officer, Selby a respectable scientist and McGruder was Chen's dutiful wife with two children. Todhunter – his nemesis back on his ship - was this ship's captain's personal chef.

He had to learn to trust those he'd despised for years. He had to be _nice_ and _respectable_ to them. He had to invite them to dine with the captain, as was his duty. To his chagrin, the scum of his _Red Dwarf_ were well educated, eloquent and had excellent table manners on this ship. Whereas he ended up fumbling when trying to use silverware with his opposite hand and drinking from a glass in his left. He'd needed a lot of practice locked in his quarters to do everything properly.

His first true stumbling block came when he went to review the ship's logs. The recording began with Captain Rimmer leaning back in his chair, his feet up on his desk, smoking a cigar.

"Ship's log – whenever," the captain waved the cigar nonchalantly. "Like anyone ever listens to these things. I'm supposed to do a report once a week, so here it is: _Red Dwarf_ is still plodding along through space. The crew are doing well and I'm about to get laid, so who the smeg cares about this twat." The captain looked to the side and whined, "Is that enough? I've got a game of poker with the lads."

A female voice chastised him, "No, Arnie, you know it has to be at least five minutes."

A truly lecherous look transformed the captain's features. "Sugar, you know I can go for at least twenty." The female voice murmured something and the captain scowled. He picked up a piece of paper. "Fine. I'll read this bloody thing; will that satisfy you?"

Both Captain Rimmer and Rimmer squirmed in their chairs as the female voice purred, "You always satisfy me, captain."

Rimmer barely listened as the captain rattled off a report that had obviously been prepared for him. What kind of ship ran without a strong leader enforcing structure and discipline? The captain wasn't slovenly – his quarters were as neat as Rimmer's had been on his _Red Dwarf_. When Rimmer took a closer look, however, he noted the lack of strategic war books and memorabilia. Rather, this universe's Rimmer didn't seem to collect anything. His quarters were as devoid of personal effects as his own had been, only more so. Not one personal picture graced the walls, not even of his promotion to captain. Did the man have no pride?

Well, if there was one thing Rimmer could do, it was enforce change. The first thing he did was set the crew rotation, as Captain Rimmer had preferred to let the crew set their own rotations. It was met with some small resistance, but he assured his crew that he was not an unreasonable man. "You can still request changes using form 9557-C, submitted to your supervisor at least two weeks prior to the requested date."

Forms had not been big in the prior captain's estimation, either, but Rimmer soon saw their return, as well as weekly formal reports on the ship's status. The day that memo went out, Rimmer looked up at a knock to his office door. "Come," he called.

Lister entered and saluted. "Did you have a minute, Captain?"

Rimmer forced a smile. "For my first officer, you can have five. Take a seat, Lister."

Narrowing his eyes, Lister sat in the chair opposite Rimmer's desk. "May I be frank, sir?"

Rimmer shot him a bemused look. "You can always say what's on your mind, Number One."

Lister toyed with the armrest. "Are you unhappy with my performance?"

It took Rimmer precious seconds to realize Lister was talking about work. He still had nightmares about "the Squirrel" incident, even though Lister had assured him they were not lovers. "Not at all, Lister," he assured his first officer. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Lister leaned forward. "Your sudden interest in the ship's roster, for starters. Since when did you give a smeg who did what job, as long as all stations were covered?"

Rimmer stood up and clasped his hands behind his back, then began to pace behind his desk. "I know it seems sudden, Lister, but I've been thinking about this for awhile. While I recuperated," he elaborated, thankful that the captain had been ill when he'd crossed to this universe. "While you've done an admirable job with the crew, I feel it's time I was more involved."

"I see," Lister mused, though it was clear he didn't understand.

Rimmer rounded on Lister and pointed a finger at him. "Don't you think it's a captain's duty to ensure his crew is tip-top?"

Lister's brows drew together in consternation. "Quite frankly, no, sir. That's the first officer's job, sir."

Oh, bloody hell. He smegging hated this universe. "Ah, yes," he covered quickly, "That's the way it's been done, to be sure. But I think it's time for something radical. Something new." He placed his fists on his desk and leaned over it, peering down at Lister. "I want the captain to have a hands-on approach when it comes to his ship. I want to head the weekly officer staff meetings. I want to be notified of all happenings, no matter how trivial or insignificant. I want all reports to come to me."

Lister looked stricken. "But – that's what _I_ do. If you're doing my job, what should I be doing?"

Rimmer smiled disarmingly. "This is only temporary until I get a feel for the crew's abilities. You'll still stand watch, liaison with the crew in my stead and handle training exercises. I just want to be in the loop from now on."

"I see," Lister muttered again, clearly disoriented. "Are you sure you're all right, captain?"

Rimmer beamed. "I assure you, Lister; I have never felt better in my whole life." He walked around his desk and stood by Lister's chair, holding out his arm in a dismissive gesture. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some more reports to go through."

Lister was reluctant to go, and shot him a look over his shoulder before passing through the doorway. Rimmer shut the door then sagged against it in relief. He was going to have to be more careful with instituting changes. He couldn't afford to draw suspicions that he wasn't their Rimmer.

=-=-=

That sultry female voice in the captain's log turned out to be none other than Lister's Kochanski. Rimmer made that discovery as he'd returned from reviewing yet more ship's logs. It had been three months since he'd crossed over and he felt things were settling down quite well. Then that voice emanated from his bed as he stepped into his quarters.

"You've been avoiding me." He could hear the pout before he saw it on Kochanski's face. As for the rest of her – he gulped and couldn't tear his gaze away from her firm breasts, barely encased in a lacy peep-hole bra. She lounged partially beneath his sheets, head propped up by her hand, fixing him with her gaze.

"I – I," he stammered, unable to form a coherent thought. Kochanski was in his bed, nearly naked, and clearly upset at him for _not_ sleeping with her. "I've been ill," he spat out, thankful he could recall that much of his new life. "Not myself lately."

 _This_ must have been what her cryptic messages had been about! He'd no idea what she'd been on about and had dismissed them as unimportant, since in this universe she was an airhead secretary working for the professor.

She sat up and the sheet fell down her body, revealing her stomach. "I've missed you, Squirrel. Come to bed. Let me make love to you."

Inside, he was doing spins and twirls and shouting to the rooftops. Outside, he felt sweat break out on his forehead and his leg started jiggling nervously. "R-right now?" he asked nervously. "I'm rather tired, actually."

She rose to her knees, slid her palms across his sheets and crawled to the edge of the bed. A whimper stuck in his throat. "All you have to do is lie back and take it like a man, Arnie."

Gulping and hoping he was able to actually move with the tent pole in his trousers, he walked carefully toward the bed. He had no time to think further as she yanked him toward her by his belt. He felt himself falling face-first toward the bed, but she turned him by his belt so he landed on his back. She stripped him of his trousers and shoes, then straddled him and began a thorough exploration of his molars. He felt his tie slide across his throat, then felt her skin pressed against his naked chest. When his body finally reacted beyond, "YES!" he had his arms around her, a hand tangled in her hair as he held her close.

Despite her assurance that he only had to lie back, he felt decidedly unmanly at the high-pitched noises she dragged out of him. She was obviously very familiar with his body, as she tweaked and twisted and raked nails down flesh that begged for more. He was fairly certain she'd come at least twice, but he had no recollection of how often he'd climaxed. Never in his life had he known his body could reach such heights, or such adventurous positions.

The air and the sheets were thick with sex as he drowsed, left arm thrown around Kochanski's waist. He was still semi-hard at the small of her back, but she was dead to the world, having exhausted herself on him. He wasn't sure what the protocol was in this universe for sleeping with superior officers, but if she didn't care, he was certainly not going to object. He nuzzled into her hair, the strawberry scent still cloying over the smell of sex and sweat.

He was woken up by a mouth firmly wrapped around his erection. "Smeg," he croaked as his hands automatically went to the hair tickling his thighs. He traced down Kochanski's face to her mouth, feeling his bulge inside her cheek. "C'm'ere," he murmured, pulling her gently off of him and up his body to kiss her properly. He rolled them over and pressed inside her, loving her throaty moan.

Her nails dug into his shoulders and he rocked his hips to get deeper. He could feel his climax building already and cursed his traitorous body. He felt her heels at the small of his back, pushing him out as he plunged back in. She was raising herself off of the bed on each thrust so he grabbed her arse and pulled her hips up, changing the angle. She wailed and started to tremble in his arms, her body clamping around his erection mercilessly. Helpless in her grip, his climax followed his shouted, "Geronimo," as wave after wave swept over him.

Collapsed next to her, his face buried in the sheets, he felt her shoving at his chest. He rolled to his side, expecting her to curl up next to him again, but to his surprise, she began pulling on her clothes. "Is something wrong?" he ventured, still trying to catch his breath.

She pushed her hair out of her face and shot him a disgusted look. "I don't know what game you're playing Arnie, but I'll have none of it."

He pushed himself to a sitting position, utterly confused. "Did I do something wrong?"

She barked out a laugh as she pulled on her blouse. "I didn't think you were into that macho smeg, Arnie. You know I don't like it."

Macho? Him? She couldn't be serious. "But what did I do?" he asked again.

She stood and glared at him, her hands on her hips. "You know smegging well what you did! Rolling me onto my back like that, having your way with me. It's improper. Women will always be in control in the bedroom, Arnie, no matter what your men's equality league believes."

What. The. Smeg was she on about? Men's equality league? Women in control in the bedroom? Utterly confused and terrified that he'd say the wrong thing, he remained silent as she finished dressing. Forlorn, he watched her leave without a backwards glance.

He collapsed back onto his bed, covering his face with his hands. His body was sore all over, from the scratches and bruises she inflicted on him, to the bite marks left scattered over his chest. She'd done a number on him, that was for sure, and in more ways than one. Sighing heavily, he figured he wasn't going to get sex from her ever again. He wasn't sure he wanted to, if it was going to be as complex as all that. He peered blearily at the clock and saw it was 6am, time for his morning jog. Unable to face the morning or the exercise, he closed his eyes and fell back asleep.

=-=-=-=

"Sir? Rimmer? Are you all right?"

He was being shaken and despised it. He was tired, smeg it all, and wanted to sleep. He groused, "G'way," and flapped his hand in the general direction of the shaking. He hit flesh with a satisfied smack and heard a faint, "Ow." Served the smegger right. What good was it to be the captain if he couldn't have a lie-in now and then?

"I'm getting the doctor, Rimmer," proclaimed the funnily-accented Lister.

Rimmer groaned and rolled onto his back, peering bleary-eyed up at his first officer. "Don't bloody do that, you goit. I'm just tired." He watched Lister's face transform from concern to embarrassment, then the man's gaze locked on the far wall.

"I see. I'm sorry, Rimmer. I didn't know you were entertaining last night."

He ran a hand through his matted hair. Entertaining? Rimmer peered down at his chest, seeing the darkening marks. Oh. _That_ sort of entertaining. "Er, yes," he said, his voice strangled. "It wasn't exactly planned, exactly. Sorry to have worried you. I'll be up in a bit." He winced at his poor choice of words. "I mean, I'll be in my office within the hour. Dismissed."

"Of course, _sir_." The faintest twitch of Lister's lips belied his embarrassment – the git was enjoying seeing his commanding officer compromised. Rimmer glared after Lister as his first officer sauntered out of his quarters. He needed to find something humiliating and degrading for Lister to do. Perhaps regreasing the ship's engines – that would keep him busy for the next year.

Grumbling to himself, he flung back his sheets and made his way to the shower, where he luxuriated under the hot spray, letting the heat soak into his sore muscles. He scrubbed away the lingering scents of sex and Kochanski and dried himself. Clad only in a towel, he carefully dabbed some antibiotic cream he'd found in his medicine cabinet onto the worst scratches on his chest and slapped some on his shoulders, though he couldn't quite reach those marks. Did he have these sort of marks often that he needed ointment in his quarters? Flushed, he dressed and smoothed down his hair, hating that he had to part it on the other side. It looked lopsided to him.

On his way to the bridge, he could have sworn he was getting coy, sideways looks from everyone he passed. He'd checked himself over carefully in the mirror – no scratches or bites were visible on his neck, so what were they looking at? Paranoid, he walked as quickly as he could to his office and shut the door, hiding behind it most of the day.

=-=-=-=

Rimmer didn't think it possible, but it was just as lonely at the top as it was at the bottom. As captain, he was isolated from the crew, not able to share in their jokes or recreation. He had to maintain a sense of decorum; a sense of respect. He was used to trading insults with the Cat, but he couldn't exactly walk up to the well-respected professor and tease him about his tweed jacket. Nor could he sneer down his nose at Kryten, because the bog-bot wasn't even on board. Kochanski – the less thought of her, the better. That left him with the familiar face of his roommate, even if it did have that silly moustache.

Similarities were few and far between, however. It took two glasses of wine, but Lister's accent would start to drop back into its Liverpudlian roots. Not overtly, but just enough that if Rimmer closed his eyes, he could pretend it was his Lister sitting across from him. Rather than fantasize about Kochanski, this Lister seemed more concerned with his career. He'd occasionally mention a date he'd had, but the gossip afterwards was filled with respect rather than conquest.

The topics of conversation were the greatest differences. Rather than gushing about Rasta Billy Skank or pondering the most disgusting noise ever emanated from the human body, this Lister expounded on classical art and literature, even beyond Rimmer's knowledge. For smeg's sake, they went _jogging_ together nearly every morning. _His_ Lister faked illness whenever strenuous activity was posted for the Canaries.

He found himself confiding in Lister with each passing week – nothing that would give away his newness to that universe, of course, but general observations about the crew. They would chat amicably after dinner, going over the work rotation, comparing notes on promotional aspirations, lamenting the odd Space Corps Directive. Quite often found them dining alone as they went over star charts and potential uses of androids in service. They became quite the team, getting the crew in tip-top shape until even Rimmer felt they were space-worthy under their tutelage.

It should have shocked him more than it did, but when he realized he genuinely liked this Lister, it was almost a comfort. Something stable in his life beyond his career, someone he could rely on, someone he could genuinely _trust_. It was something he'd never had before. A stray thought at that moment shook him - was this how Lister had felt upon meeting Ace Rimmer? A man more contemporary to his own likes, rather than one at odds with everything he stood for? He squirmed uneasily. He'd given Lister and Ace hell for forming such a quick friendship. His friendship with this Lister was still developing, but it felt more real than any relationship he'd ever had.

He didn't think on it further until one day in his office, Lister mentioned off-hand, "I've been thinking about your proposition, Arnold."

"My proposition?" he asked, distracted. He thought they were headed into GELF space, at least they would be in his universe, based on the projected star chart spread over his desk. He wondered if he should send out scouters to be sure.

"The one you mentioned after your recovery," Lister prompted, drawing his attention. His first officer quoted, "'I want the captain to have a _hands-on_ approach when it comes to his ship'."

He furrowed his brow at Lister, who was staring rather oddly at his hands. Rimmer flexed his left hand, feeling the rough skin from the burns he sustained on his _Red Dwarf_. His hand cramped something awful if he had to sign a lot of forms and it had been hurting since right after lunch. "What about it?" he asked. "I thought it was coming along splendidly."

Lister's face broke into the happy, chipmunk-cheeked grin that used to annoy the smeg out of him. It looked rather good curling his first officer's mouth and tightened something in Rimmer's chest. "It's moved along at a good clip under your close, personal supervision, but I'm ready to step up operations."

A familiar twinkle lit Lister's eyes from deep within, one that used to send Rimmer into a panic – and didn't fail to do so now. His voice sounded remarkably calm as he asked, "So what's your plan, then?"

"You're really going to have me say it?" Lister growled playfully as he placed his elbows on the Louis XIV replica desk and leaned his chin into his interlaced fingers. Rimmer's heart began pounding in his chest as a sense of anticipation thickened the air. "You've proven your point with the wining and dining, games of _Risk_ , and late night chats. We've worked seamlessly together and it hasn't changed how the crew see either one of us." Lister licked his lips and Rimmer's body responded encouragingly to the gesture. "You meant it as an elaborate, subtle seduction. Well, my captain, it's worked."

He was speechless, unable to process what Lister was telling him. Had he been seducing his first officer? His bread wasn't buttered on that side. Only…looking at Lister's hands, so used to delicate calibrations to the ship's computer core, he couldn't help but imagine those same hands on his body. Doing… _things_. Erotic things. Sexy things. Lister's eyes held heated promises, promises Rimmer had no doubt he could fulfill.

Why wasn't the idea of sex with Lister disgusting him? He felt…rather anticipatory at the idea and surprisingly not very nervous. "It has?" he asked faintly, startled at the raw need he could hear in his voice.

Lister seemed oblivious to his turmoil. "It was so effortless on your part. You'd always set yourself apart from the crew, but you let me in. You let me see the real you, and he's sexy as smeg."

Words foreign to his ears were causing them to burn in embarrassment. Rimmer was caught in that intensity focused solely on him, usually so focused on the job at hand. Breathlessly, he stated, "He is?"

That growl again from Lister and Rimmer leaned toward it, pressing his chest into the edge of the desk. "The confidence, the swagger, the moments of doubt – it's an incredibly sexy package, Arnold. And that pert little arse of yours as you strut down the corridor." He saw a shiver tremble through Lister. "I never would have noticed, if not for your gentle persuasion."

Rimmer licked his dry lips. Something huge and frightening was swirling between them, something that made him want to leap into the heart of a star just to impress this man. He half-rose out of his chair, gaze locked on Lister's parted lips. "Right, then," he agreed, barely able to concentrate on the words being spoken. "But you've sorted it, now?"

"Definitely sorted," Lister breathed, gaze dropping to Rimmer's mouth.

Tension thickened the air, but Rimmer was frozen half-out of his chair, arms trembling where they held him upright. He was teetering on the impossible, the incredible, and couldn't find the strength to move.

Lister half-rose from his chair, licked his lips and breathed, "Sexy. As. Smeg."

Something inside Rimmer unleashed in that second and he lunged forward, pulling Lister across the desk. He mashed their mouths together inelegantly, caring more for the contact than any precision. He ended up with more mustache than mouth and whined at the back of his throat. Even with the terrible angle, the kiss was electric, setting nerve endings afire and blood coursing through his veins.

He dimly heard crashes but was more concerned with Lister, who was wriggling most unsatisfactorily. "Stop moving," he hissed in annoyance. He sucked on Lister's lower lip and bit it gently in rebuke. Through his lust-haze, he finally realized that Lister was attempting to crawl on top of his desk. He left the heat of Lister's mouth and held onto his arms to balance him. Name plate, clock, pens and assorted other immaterial things clattered to the floor as Lister's knees pushed onto the desktop. Now Rimmer was staring up at him; a novel angle, as he was taller than most people. Rimmer grinned. "Is this how you sleep your way to the top?" he joked, letting the lust he was feeling shine from his eyes.

Lister's eyes were liquid pools of fire. "Top or bottom; I don't care as long as we're naked and you're touching me."

"Smeg," he hissed and pulled Lister toward his mouth. This time the kiss was more proper, lips sliding along lips and parting to deepen the connection. Rimmer found his hands cupping Lister's arse – an arse he'd stared at for years as Lister walked around in his underwear. It was a fine arse, hefty in just the right way, more muscled than he expected. He gave it a squeeze, just because he could. The moan his gesture initiated rumbled through him, so he did it again, getting a stronger reaction.

"We need a bed," he murmured against Lister's mouth. "I need you in a bed _now_."

"Your quarters are nearer," Lister stated with calm clarity, despite Rimmer's fingers clutching at his arse.

Rimmer pulled back as Lister's words sank in. Breathing heavily, he straightened his tie and smoothed down his hair where Lister had started to untangle it. Lister had a few deep creases in his shirt, but the back of his pants had distinct handprint-shaped indents. Rimmer sniggered and caught Lister by the shoulder before they exited his office.

He cleared his throat at Lister's confusion. "I seem to have wrinkled your pants," he said with a grin, making an elaborate show of smoothing out the lines on Lister's posterior.

Lister fixed him with a heated look. "There are a lot more wrinkles in your future, _Captain_."

Unable to speak through his suddenly dry mouth, Rimmer turned Lister and gently shoved him toward the door, wondering if they could get away with snogging in the lift.

=-=-=-=

They lay in bed, Lister intertwining their fingers. "I had no idea your seduction was so utterly subtle, utterly flawless, that it caught me completely unaware. One minute we're playing Risk and you've rolled a three and a four, the next minute I'm awash in you – your excitement, your smile, your effortless charm and charisma. It felt like a lightning strike, only more intense. I don't know how you maintained your composure. I felt helpless, completely surrounded by you, and you just played on as if nothing had changed. But my entire universe changed that night, Arnold."

Rimmer stared at their joined hands, still trying to wrap his mind around the past few hours. Not just the sex, because after Kochanski, he was used to wild, unpredictable situations, but the caring that Lister exuded. The concentration and gentleness he put into every touch; every kiss. And now Lister was telling him when he fell in love with him.

He suddenly wanted to tell Lister everything: the mirror universe, how he wasn't _their_ captain, and how he wasn't _his_ Rimmer. But the words stuck in his throat. "I was fascinated by you," he admitted instead, rubbing his thumb over Lister's. "Your every word and deed, your likes and dislikes. I didn't realize I was flirting at first. Then it came naturally."

Lister turned to him with a wicked grin, so like the other Lister's that his breath stuttered in his chest. "I don't think it's _natural_ to come four times in as many hours, Arnold," he teased.

Embarrassed heat flared over the skin of Rimmer's chest and neck, but he met Lister's eyes and proudly declared, "I didn't hear any complaints at the time."

Lister's free hand reached up to rest against his cheek. "No complaints now, either," he murmured and Rimmer felt himself being pulled down. He happily surrendered to Lister's kiss.

When they parted, Lister had a question in his eyes. "What changed your mind?"

Realizing he was treading in dangerous waters, Rimmer asked carefully, "What do you mean?"

"The whole ship knew you and Kochanski had an understanding, though it was unofficial. Then one day, you stopped talking about her, and a few months later, she started going off on you to anyone who would listen." Lister searched his face, but Rimmer didn't know what he was looking for.

It only took a few seconds for Rimmer to find the answer. "The fire. When I was crawling on the floor to reach the medi bay and collapsed. I thought I was dying; I felt like I was dying. In those last moments, I thought back over my life and didn't like how it turned out. I wanted more; not just in my career, but in my lover as well. Kochanski is amazing, don't get me wrong, but I wanted something deeper. Something with more meaning." It was his turn to caress Lister's cheek. "I felt like I cheated death when I woke up in the medi bay. I didn't want to waste my second chance."

Lister's expression melted into a heartbreaking smile. "You always bragged you'd never shag an officer."

Rimmer kissed him softly. "And I haven't. I've had sex with my best friend, my confidant and my other half."

Lister's eyebrow rose. " _Just_ sex?" he quipped, obviously fishing.

Rimmer studied him: the short dreads, the clipped moustache, the eager smile, the tantalizing lips, the expressive eyes, and knew he couldn't put a label on what Lister was to him. "No, not just sex," he whispered and pulled _his_ Lister back into his arms, showing _his Lister_ just what he felt for him.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> There is now a sequel to this story: [Honest Life](http://archiveofourown.org/works/683372).


End file.
